


The World Turned Upside Down

by lilactreesinwinter



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Near Future, M/M, Orkney, PBB, Phandom Big Bang 2017, Scotland, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilactreesinwinter/pseuds/lilactreesinwinter
Summary: Emily Lester lives in idyllic Orkney, Scotland, with her father and little brother, far from the Border of the war with England which has made the Internet a distant memory. One day, the war comes to her doorstep and everything changes. This is a story about war, politics, and the Internet, but mostly about what family means to a teenage girl.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phandom Big Bang 2017! 
> 
> Lovely artwork by [alex-i-guess](http://alex-i-guess.tumblr.com/) [here](https://alex-i-guess.tumblr.com/post/166537478763/my-drawing-for-the-phandombigbang-read)!
> 
> Thanks to beta [sophisticatedfandomtrash](http://sophisticatedfandomtrash.tumblr.com/) and artists [oceaneyespml](http://oceaneyespml.tumblr.com/) and [alex-i-guess](http://alex-i-guess.tumblr.com/). And many thanks to fabulous mods [nataliadeluckah](http://nataliadeluckah.tumblr.com/) and [ib-student-99](http://ib-student-99.tumblr.com/), and to the dedicated band of Word Warriors!
> 
> _Warning:_ one use of ‘Gypsy’ as a slur.

Emily expertly skidded her bike off the lane, hit the small ramp, and sailed through the gap in the tumbled-down wall. She had hopped off and was pushing her bike up the path to the old stone farmhouse before her little brother Jack caught up to her.

“Slowpoke.” She took off her helmet and shook her brown curls loose from where sweat had stuck them to her forehead.

Jack huffed as he followed her around the house. His sister had always been the older one of course, but now that she had turned 12, while he was still a few weeks shy of his tenth birthday, she seemed especially determined to prove her superiority.

“Beat you to the shed,” he yelled, and took off pedalling over the grass. 

Emily rolled her eyes and followed him, pushing her bike sedately. She was rewarded a moment later when a shout of “Oi! Jack!” in a strong Glaswegian accent came from behind the house. She turned the corner to see Cat standing, fists on hips, by the hoe she had been wielding in her herb garden. A few frizzles of dark blond hair had escaped her hat to fall into her eyes, currently a stormy violet as she glowered at the boy in front of her. Jack was looking chastened, propping up his bike with one hand whilst the other tentatively reached to pet Pancake’s head. The family border collie was grinning at him and wagging her tail, for all the world as though they hadn't both just crashed into a rosemary bush.

Cat lived in the cottage behind the main house. She had lived there almost as long as Emily's family had been in the farmhouse, which was longer than Emily could remember. Emily's dad often said that Cat had appeared just when he needed her, as if by magic. He accompanied this suggestion with a flourish of his long slim fingers, as though he really were a magician. Cat would respond with a snort that she had worked very hard to manifest at his door, thank you very much. Emily's dad would answer, firmly, that he was eternally grateful to her, and he and Cat would share a smile and a nod.

“Go ahead and put your bikes away, kids. Did your dad say when he'd be home for dinner?”

Emily looked up at the grey sky. The long June days never got properly dark this far north, not till after midnight anyway. Whilst it was never very warm in the Orkney Islands, the summers were full of light. Sometimes it was hard to believe it was late enough to eat dinner, much less go to bed.

“Em?”

“Er, he said he wanted to finish marking as many exams as possible, but he should be home by 7:00.”

“Very well. Jack, since you've already harvested some of the rosemary, you can come help me roast some potatoes with it. Please be sure you're in by 6:30 to set the table, Em. I see you have your phone with you, so no excuses about losing track of the time.”

As Cat and Jack went inside, Emily ambled across the meadow to her favourite spot on a low hill behind the house. From here she could see both the Atlantic Ocean and the lane coming out from town. She often went the additional half-mile down to the sea, to walk along the rocky beach and imagine she was one of the Neolithic humans who, long before the Vikings came, had built a thriving civilisation on these windswept islands at the northern tip of the British Isles. (Sometimes she imagined being a Viking, too.) But today she was feeling thoughtful, so she just sat, hugging the dog who had plopped down next to her.

Until recently, Emily had never thought much about how she fit in. Her place in her family felt comfortable and solid, she knew everyone at her small school, and she enjoyed a few close friendships. The town was close-knit, but also accepting of both eccentrics and outsiders. Even accepting of English people. 

Emily knew of course that she and Jack were English by birth—like their dad. But since they had come here when Jack was an infant and she a toddler, they had grown up completely Scottish like all their friends. They usually felt as though they perfectly belonged. Her mates sometimes teased her about her father's English accent (they said they couldn't understand him!), but everyone seemed to agree that anyway it made sense for the school's best-loved English teacher to be, well, English.

Emily knew that there were grandparents and cousins, and old friends of her father's, in England, but her family had not been back since they left. It was strange to think that the reason they couldn't go “home” was because Scotland and England were at war. 

In the grand scheme of history, of course, there had been many times when Scotland and England had fought each other. Maybe the anomaly was that the United Kingdom had lasted for 300 years. But that had started to unravel just 14 years ago, with Britain’s impetuous vote to exit the European Union. The Brexit vote had knocked over the first domino in a long row that resulted in Scotland leaving the UK and rejoining the EU. At the same time, an unholy alliance formed between England, the United States, and Russia. Since then, a state of war had simmered between the EU and the Alliance. 

The war started, as wars often do, with migrants traveling in both directions to cross to the right side of the Border before it closed. For some reason, despite their being English, Scotland was the right side of the Border for Emily's family.

Emily never used to question why her family not only lived in Scotland, but dwelt in one of the remotest parts of the country. Orkney was home, and that was enough. Recently though, some new kids at school had been whispering unkind remarks about English immigrants, and that had got her wondering.

Sunk deep in contemplation, Emily forgot to look at the time, so she was startled when Pancake sat up and began wagging her tail. A tall figure was riding down the lane. Emily raced toward the house, the collie at her heels. She pulled up panting just as her dad dismounted his bike and removed his helmet, running his hand through his hair. He smiled at her, crinkles forming around his kind eyes—eyes blue as sun on the sea, so different to Emily's deep dark own. She couldn't help smiling back and wrapping her arms around him.

“Well, hello!” her dad said. “I am honoured to be greeted at the gate by our very own Emily Lester.”


	2. Chapter 2

Emily had more research to do. It was ironic that her topic was the Internet Age—the late 20th and very early 21st century. Ironic because—apparently—in the Internet Age everyone _used_ the Internet for research. It was hard for her to imagine what it must have been like when any question in your head could be answered in an instant, as her dad put it. A time when everyone’s phones didn't just text and call, like phones today. Incredibly, Internet Age phones also contained tiny computers that were connected to pretty much all the databases in the world. That web of connections was the “Internet” part. 

Even more astonishing, the Internet connected all the _people_ in the world. Emily’s dad said that it was amazing that they could stay in touch with the people they knew by texting and phoning them whenever they wanted to. But he said it was even better when you could communicate with people you _didn't_ yet know, when you could put your thoughts and ideas and stories out into the whole world, for anybody to find. If someone liked what they saw, there were loads of ways they could reach back to you and let you know. You could become friends “online” with someone anywhere in the world. And if you were lucky, you could then become friends in person—with someone you never would have met without the Internet. 

Emily sighed. Trying to imagine what it felt like to live in days gone by wasn't helping her get her research done so she could leave the school library and go home. Back in the Internet Age, computers were everywhere, not just in libraries. People carried tiny ones in their pockets and had larger ones at home. Emily imagined lying on her bed with a computer in her lap, doing research (or whatever else) in comfort and privacy. Her house did have a computer, but it stayed in her dad's office, and came out only when they watched films or played games. Her dad kept some accounts and other documents on the computer, but most files were printed out and deleted, or moved to data chips that could be safely tucked away. After the terrors at the beginning of the war, everyone treated computers very gingerly, and many people wouldn't touch them at all. Just a dozen years ago, malicious computer code raced around the world, bringing down power plants, destroying government operations, and corrupting databases. No computer connected to the Internet was safe from having its data stolen or destroyed, or from being recruited into an army attacking other computers. And then the Internet itself was brought down, piece by piece, until each computer stood alone. 

In the decade since the collapse of the Internet, limited infrastructure had been rebuilt. The Scottish government had constructed its own heavily-guarded networks, some for government, others for research or schools. Emily's school library had a bank of computers for doing research. They connected directly to government-maintained computers that hosted a vast array of databases with information of all sorts, available for browsing or downloading. 

To use the databases for her schoolwork, Emily had to sit in the library or print out a few pages to take with her. All she wanted was to be outside in the fresh air, so she gritted her teeth and typed the rest of her references into the keyboard, quickly read the results that appeared on the screen, and scrawled a few notes in her notebook.

Emily reached the end of her list, returned the key to the computer to the librarian, threw pen and notebook into her messenger bag, and headed out to her bike. As she turned the corner from the library, she found her way blocked by the new kid from Edinburgh who had unkind things to say about English people. 

“Freak!” was the only response she got to her friendly “Hello.”

“I don’t like Englishers,” the boy continued. “Especially not Gypsies!”

Emily was baffled. She never denied her English roots and had occasionally been subject to the “Englisher” slur. But Gypsy? The boy was happy to elucidate further.

“You don't look anything like your dad or your brother. You’re just a Gypsy child they found somewhere. Or maybe the Gypsies stole your dad’s real daughter and left you instead!”

Denial was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't trust her voice not to betray her sudden tears. How could this kid who knew nothing about her say such things?

“Hey Em, what’s keeping you?” piped a childish voice. Normally, Emily would be annoyed to have her little brother come looking for her, but now she was immensely grateful. 

“Pardon me,” she choked out and she sidled past the boy. 

“Ask your dad where you came from!” he yelled after her. She broke into a run, grabbed her bike from the rack, and pulled it under her without breaking stride. She zipped off down the path, Jack struggling as always to keep up with her. 

* * *

Emily was watching a breeze riffle the distant Atlantic when Pancake sat up beside her and wagged her tail. The gentle, measured steps that she had been ignoring stopped behind her. A hand reached down to stroke her curls. 

“Want to come have a family meeting by the tree?” 

Emily allowed herself to lean back against her father’s thigh for just a moment as his hand cupped her head. She nodded and sat up. She was too old to take his hand, but she walked by her father’s side down from her favourite spot to the special tree behind the house, where Jack was waiting. 

Her dad had planted the nectarine tree shortly after they arrived in Scotland—even though nectarines were difficult to grow so far north. It had been a very small sapling then—now it was a somewhat larger sapling. The crown of the tree had risen decidedly above her dad’s head, which meant that it was well above six feet tall. The tree was very special to her dad and he took almost obsessive care of it. When it was small, he had even sheltered it from the wind with elaborate billowing covers (which often blew away themselves).

Emily's father had not always been able to keep plants alive. He would tell stories about his days back in England when he worked as a film editor: he apparently managed to kill all of his houseplants in funny or spectacular ways. His flatmate at the time would tease him mercilessly about his poor relationship with green growing things. 

Lester family meetings were always held by the tree—unless the weather was truly awful—sat around it when it (and they) were small, squeezed under its delicate branches now they all were bigger. Today, somehow, their dad had folded his legs up and tucked himself against the slender trunk, and his children sat to either side of him.

Phil Lester’s gingery hair, pushed back in a quiff, was fading in colour, and a little white streak at each temple betrayed his 43 years. His shoulders were a bit stooped, but his tall frame was still slender and strong. His bright blue eyes (Emily, who had spent time staring into them, knew they were really three colours—blue, green, and yellow) were set off by fair skin which acquired a sprinkle of pale freckles in the summer. His face was indubitably that of a kind man, with eyes that crinkled behind his glasses when he smiled. But it was also the face of a sad man. Even though he smiled and laughed and lavished love on his children, there always seemed to be something missing, as though he was about to turn to speak to someone just as he remembered they wouldn't be there. 

“Emily,” her father began. “I heard from Jack that some kids have been giving you trouble at school.”

Emily picked at her shoelace. She had no intention of telling her father the dreadful things that boy had said. Of course, Jack had no such compunction. He looked over at his sister, widening his big blue eyes, so like their father’s. 

“Tell Dad what he called you. A Chipsey?”

Emily almost laughed. Her little brother was infuriating, but somehow adorable in his ability to get things ever so slightly wrong. “A Gypsy, silly!”

“Hm, a Chipsey or a Gypsy,” murmured their father, as though the choice of words merited serious consideration. “I have heard that Gypsies are beautiful, but they can't be as beautiful as Emily Lester. I don’t know about a Chipsey, though.”

“Da-ad!” Emily was secretly pleased whenever her father complimented her, but of course she couldn’t let on. 

Jack was still staring at her. “That boy said you don't look like me and Dad.” This was not something Jack had considered before. “Do you? Does she?” He turned to their father with concern. 

“She has lovely dark eyes and dark curly hair, and you have blue eyes and hair that is ginger and standing straight up at the moment. Is that what you mean?”

Jack looked slightly confused. “I guess….”

“That boy meant more than that.” Emily’s voice was grim. “He meant that I'm not related to you. Like, I'm not your real sister. Dad, how come I don't look like you? Jack looks like you.”

“Does he? He doesn't have spectacles like me. And I think he’s a great deal more handsome.”

“Dad.”

“Child.”

“I've had biology in school. I know genes mean you inherit traits from your parents. And siblings tend to look like each other. But I don't look like you _or_ Jack.”

“You learn at school about traits like hair and eye colour because those are easy to see. But we're made up of millions of traits, and not all of them are easy to compare. Some families look more alike than others, and in different ways. Certainly our family is very tall.”

This was true. Emily had been the tallest kid her age for a long time. Only recently had some of the boys started to threaten to catch up. Jack was tall for his age too.

Emily was still thinking. “So do I look like her, then?”

She knew she was broaching a sensitive subject, one that seemed to make her dad especially sad. Understandably: they had had to leave their birth mother behind in England. 

Phil had always been open with the kids about their somewhat unusual family. He explained that he wanted children very much, and of course he couldn't make them all by himself. A woman—their birth mum—had helped. It was a job for her, but a job that only special people could do—women who were both generous and strong, and could grow a baby and then give it to its parents. Phil had become friends with her during the process of begetting both Emily and Jack, and he had been sorry that the war had forced them to part ways. He hoped to someday be able to reintroduce his children to the woman who helped bring them into the world.

“Take off your shoes. Both of you.” When the children had complied with the rather strange request, their dad pointed at their toes. “Your feet are funny looking—in exactly the same way.” It was true. He then pulled the hair back from their ears and had them feel that their earlobes were the same, and different to his. 

“And look: you both can roll up your tongues, and I can’t do that at all.” Their dad crossed his eyes with the effort, sending them into giggles.

The conversation drifted onto more silly body-related topics, and then into tickling. Emily knew that her father had artfully distracted them from the initial question, as he so often did. Jack was involved with trying to tickle the dog and had forgotten all his worries, and their dad was laughing.

But Emily wondered about her place in the family for the first time. 

* * *

Emily had spent much of the morning in her room under the eaves, staring at herself in the mirror. She was sure her nose was getting larger by the day—it seemed to dominate her face. It was long and straight, not at all like her dad's bird beak of a nose. On even more careful examination, she decided it was ever so slightly sunburnt, the result of her neglecting to wear a hat, even though there had been several bright days in a row. Usually her skin would tan just a little bit over the course of a summer—her dad called it her golden glow—but as it was only June she was still quite pale.

Cat had eventually extracted Emily from her room and insisted that she go outside (hat-wearing up to her) and work in the front garden. Since Jack was staying at a friend's house, Cat was busy with the laundry out back, and her dad was inside working on papers, Emily rather grumpily laboured alone, with only Pancake for company. The dog poked about for a bit, but as she wasn't very helpful at weeding, she soon just lay down to doze.

Pulling weeds from flowerbeds was meditative work, and Emily was soon woolgathering again. (She had actually been wool-gathering a few times, with her friend Poppy on her grandma's sheep fields. She had brought the tufts of wool plucked from thorns and fences home to Cat, who had spun it by hand and made it into....)

Emily's reverie was interrupted as Pancake raised her head alertly. It took her a moment to hear that someone was fumbling at the latch on the front gate, which had undoubtedly frozen shut again.

No one in the family actually used the gate, nor did their friends or neighbours. The walls to either side had crumbled enough over the centuries that in most places anyone could simply step inside. Their dad had built a bit of a ramp out of loose stones at one low spot so Emily and Jack could jump their bikes over, and he had taken to using it too when coming home from school. He liked to joke that when he was in his twenties, “exercise” was something for which he had to set aside time at a gym, but now riding a bike miles to and from work was just part of everyday life.

The person at the gate must be a stranger then. Emily stood up. The figure framed by the gateposts was tall enough to be a member of the family. It appeared to be a man, the cap pulled over his eyes shading his face as he wrestled with the latch. A dark stubble feathered his jaw, and his shaggy hair was curled into knots not unlike Emily's own.

Emily ran to throw her weight against the recalcitrant latch from the inside to encourage it to give. As she reached for the handle, she looked up into the face on the other side.

And felt she was again looking into her mirror.

The face staring back at her had the same eyes, same hair, same nose. Though, since he was an adult, his face had grown to match his nose, in lovely proportions. His skin was tanned under the stubble, as though he had been spending quite a bit of time outside in the full sun.

Emily and the stranger might have stood indefinitely, transfixed by their reflection in each other, had Cat not come around the side of the house, dropped the laundry basket, and screamed.

Cat was the most unflappable person Emily knew. She took everything in stride. But she appeared to be as shocked as Emily that someone with Emily's face was at the gate.

The gate itself popped open abruptly and the stranger stepped through, catching Emily as she stumbled back. They shared a smile for a warm moment, before both turning to Cat, who was trying to compose herself, sweeping strands of hair back from her flushed cheeks. The stranger sighed.

Everyone in this speechless tableau was so captured by the moment that they did not notice that Phil had stepped out the front door until he uttered one word: “Adrian.”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Adrian?_ ” said Cat, while the stranger said “You thought I was someone else”, and Emily's dad said “Let's all get inside.”

“I'm sorry, I never met—” said Cat, while the stranger rolled his eyes and said “Don't worry about it”, and Emily's dad said “ _INSIDE!_ ”

Emily couldn't move until she felt the stranger—Adrian? Who was Adrian?—touch her shoulder. She stepped hesitantly toward the farmhouse where her father was still stood in the doorway. She caught an expression on her father's face that she had never seen before, quickly replaced by a sad smile.

“Come along, Em,” he said softly and reached for her hand. She took it. Her small hand enfolded in his large one had always made her feel safe. But something in his grip told her he could no longer protect her as he always had.

Inside, Cat bustled to the kitchen to put on the kettle and Phil dug out a packet of biscuits and Adrian perched politely on the sofa in the small lounge. Everyone was suddenly pretending this was a perfectly normal social call. Emily felt unmoored—the familiar adults were behaving inexplicably—and…. _this stranger looked just like her_. She sat tentatively on the sofa beside him.

“Who are you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You've never heard my name?”

Cat scowled at him as she brought in the tea tray. “She's never heard of _you_.”

“Ah,” Adrian replied, swallowing back any further thoughts.

Tea mugs in hand and biscuits passed around, they all sat looking at each other.

Phil cleared his throat. “I expect you are here with news?” His voice was tense.

Adrian smiled. “Good news, I think.”

Phil shifted in his seat. His eyes were suddenly bright before he dropped them to the mug in his hands.

Silence again descended.

Emily was beginning to wonder if she was having some weird dream where everything moved in slow motion. The silence became unbearable.

“What is going on?!” Her voice was overloud in the quiet room.

Her father started and looked up. He cleared his throat again.

“Emily....there are….a few things I've never told you. Er—about why we are here in Orkney. Why we left England. And-and about our family. You must know that it was always only to keep you—all of us—safe—”

“About our family? Is Adrian _my real father_?” She hadn't acknowledged the growing certainty inside her until the words tumbled out. To her surprise, she was met with a shocked chorus of “No!”

“What, then?”

“Adrian is your uncle.” Phil hurriedly added, “I am your dad—you know that.” He took a deep breath. “Emily, what you don't know is that you have another dad. I was—am!—married to him.” His voice got very soft. “When we had our first child, it turned out you were genetically his.”

The word “genetically” rang in her ears, and Emily could process only one thing. “You lied to me,” she gasped.

“Yes, I lied to you,” Phil acknowledged, his gaze steady on hers.

She looked in bewilderment about the room, her eyes landing on Adrian.

“You do look just like Dan,” he told her. “Even more than I do. The Howell family has strong genes, I reckon.”

Adrian was making more sense than her dad was; at least, he said a name that she could latch onto. “I have a father I never met and his name is Dan Howell?”

“You met him,” Adrian replied in surprise. “He was so proud of you. He carried you around all the time when you were a baby. He said Phil would probably drop you. And you did cry for Dan whenever anyone else tried to hold you.” He winced at the memory. “You were a very loud baby.”

“Wait, I met you before, too?”

“Yeah, of course, before—before the war. You were little.” Adrian turned to Phil. “I suppose she was about two when you left?”

“She was two,” Phil confirmed. “I wanted to wait until Jack could be safely weaned. But we left when he was a month old. I was so afraid that we had waited too long.” He frowned remembering.

“You were crazy to travel with an infant and a—er—headstrong toddler. My mum really wanted to come with you.”

“So did mine. But I knew either of them would get trapped on this side of the Border and I couldn't let that happen.”

“And how _did_ you manage?” asked Adrian.

“I can't really remember,” said Phil ruefully. “It was such a blur, and looking back I don't see how it was even possible.”

Adrian shook his head. “I'm glad you got the one message out that you were safe. Or the grandmas would have come looking for you.”

“I was fine once I got here,” Phil asserted.

This elicited a snort from Cat.

“Well,” he amended. “Somehow I survived until Cat got here. It didn't take her very long, to be honest. I was not really surprised that someone like her was able to find us, even while the English government lost track of us immediately. Thankfully.”

Emily was struggling to follow the conversation. She knew the story of the Lester family exodus from England by heart, but she was now hearing it enriched with a whole different set of details—it sounded like something that had happened to some other family.

Adrian turned to Cat with a small smirk and reached out his hand. “I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Adrian Howell, as you may have guessed.”

Cat sniffed and rolled her eyes as she took his hand, having long since regained the composure she had lost upon first seeing him. “Cat Wallace.”

“Sorry that I'm not Dan.”

“Oh, please,” Cat responded. “It was just a shock to the system to have you turn up after so many years.”

They suddenly both turned to Phil, who was staring bleakly at them.

“I'm sorry, Phil,” said Cat gently. “We've been on about everyone but you. What's happening is more important to you than anyone.” (Emily couldn't see how that could possibly be. What could be more important than finding out you had another father?)

Phil recovered himself. “Yes, well,” he said, putting on his most courteous and businesslike tone. “Adrian, it's good to see you after so long. I trust your family are well?”

“Yes, they are, and they send their love to all of you.” He smiled at Emily. “I also was told—many times over—to bring all the love in the world from your mum and dad. To you, as well as of course their dear grandkids. And from your brother and Cornelia and Peter.” Emily knew that Peter was almost exactly her age, and she had sometimes liked to imagine what her English cousin was doing. But now she wondered if maybe somehow he wasn't really her cousin anyway.

“And any other, er, family members?”

“Nah. I broke up with my girlfriend a year ago, and, well, it's just me. Which just meant it was good timing for me to bring the message to you myself.”

Phil sat up straight, put his hands on his knees, and became very still. “The message.”

“Yes. He is well. He sent the message himself.”

At the mention of “the message”, all the adults again started talking at once. Emily slid off the sofa, and was out the door and up to her spot on the hill before she knew what she was doing. The sun was still high and bright in the sky, and the sea in the distance was still blue. The hill was green and the breeze was mild, and Pancake was at her side wagging her tail. Everything should seem the same as always, yet nothing was. Nothing would be the same again. Emily grabbed Pancake and squeezed so hard that the dog yelped.

She didn't know how long she sat there before Cat dropped down beside her.

“Em, love. I'm so sorry today has been such a shock. Your dad never meant for you to find out this way.”

“So when was he going to tell me about my other dad?”

“Sometime soon, I think. Maybe when Jack got a bit older so he could tell you both at once.”

“But didn't he know that _my uncle_ could show up at any time?”

“No! I mean yes, it was possible, but he never thought Adrian would come himself—it would be risky. And anyway, as the years went by....”

“Yeah, what? He didn't think it was important anymore?”

“Emily! You're not being fair. Try to think about someone besides yourself for just a moment. You've spent ten years not knowing that you had another father. Your dad has spent ten years not knowing whether he will ever see his husband again.”

Emily was quiet.

“Er, so, by the way, where _is_ my dad? You all act like he's in another universe.”

“He is, in a way. But I think I'm not the one to explain. I came to get you for dinner. And to remind you that you're not to talk to anyone about this, yeah? Not even your brother. Do you understand? It's easy to forget that we are at war all the way up here, but wars are dangerous.”

“Wait—my dad that I don't remember is part of the war?”

“Very much so.”

* * *

At dinner, the adults were still all talking at once. About people in England who Emily didn't even know. About life in the village that Emily already knew all about. Emily sat pushing her food around on her plate, and for once no one reprimanded her.

“Emily.” Cat's hand on her knee started her out of her reverie. “Come help me with the dishes while your father sets up his monitor.”

Emily stumbled after Cat with her plate. “What's he doing that for?”

“For the message. Haven't you listened to anything we've said? Never mind. Your uncle Adrian brought the message from your dad on a chip. Your dad is setting up his equipment so we can view it.”

Cat didn't even seem to notice the ambiguity in what she said. How could she so casually say “your dad” to refer to two entirely different people? It all made no sense to Emily.

“Isn't it dangerous to carry around a data chip? Especially across the Border?” Emily knew that when they came from England her family hadn't brought any data with them, beyond a few simple papers containing basic information.

“Yes, it is.” Cat folded her arms thoughtfully. “I think the Border must have got porous again. From what I hear, the English have been more distracted lately. Though it was still a brave thing for Adrian to do. He might have got caught. I think, though, that he was in the mood for adventure. A bit of travel.”

The office was small, really just an alcove off the lounge. The flatscreen monitor that the family sometimes used to watch films was set up on the desk, more cables than usual running from it. The sofa had been turned round from the lounge to face it. Emily watched her father kneel to insert a small data chip into the reader balanced on the floor against a chair leg, grab his keyboard, then sit back on the sofa next to Cat and Adrian. He gestured for Emily to sit at his feet, where she usually sat for watching films. Instead, she sat by Adrian's feet, as far from her dad as possible.

The data reader hummed, and a challenge appeared on the screen, requiring a passcode. Phil typed a long string of characters without hesitation.

“Of course you knew the code just like that,” Adrian muttered.

There were actually several levels of security on the chip, but Emily's dad opened all of them unfazed. Finally, no more challenges appeared. The reader clicked faintly, and after a long pause the film began.

It was the most extraordinary film Emily had ever watched.

A man sat looking into the camera. Cat's hand went to her mouth, Adrian said “huh”, and Emily's dad went completely still. The man started speaking, with the lovely posh accent of Adrian's English, but Emily could not hear anything he was saying.

She had been shocked, just a few hours ago, to look into Adrian's face and see someone like her. That had hardly prepared her for the face she could see on the screen. Though she wouldn't have thought it possible, Adrian was right: this man looked even more like her. Oh, he was old, even older than her uncle, and there were crow's feet around his eyes, which looked tired and a bit bloodshot. But the eyes were the same, and the eyebrows were the same, and the nose.... He was clean-shaven and his skin was pale—clearly he had not been out in the sun. His brown hair was cut short, but wavy, curls forming along his hairline.

The man was speaking earnestly, occasionally gesturing purposefully. Emily still couldn't focus on his words, but his voice was soothing and somehow made her feel safe. Then she heard her name.

“Emily.” The voice was gentle and the man on the screen smiled. “You must be almost a teenager now. I hope your papa shows you this message. I'm sure you don't remember me, but I remember you. We spent every day of the first two years of your life together. I carried you everywhere with me—you never wanted me to put you down. People said you'd never learn to walk on your own, but I reckon you're walking just fine now. I know your papa has been taking the best care of you. But....I miss you every day. I hope to see you soon. We have so much to catch up on. I love you.”

The man settled back in his seat and frowned.

“Now this is a bit awkward. I know I have another child. I sang to you while you were in the womb, and I felt you kick. But I don't know your name....or what you look like. I hope you have your papa's eyes.” The man looked sad. “And I hope you're being good to your big sister! I love you and want to meet you as soon as I can.”

The man on the screen held his hands up under his chin, and formed into the shape of a heart. Emily gasped. It was exactly the same gesture her dad—Phil—used every night when he said goodnight.

“Phil.” The man's voice wavered. He swallowed. “Phil. I miss you more than—believe me. I've never got used to not having you....right there. I miss you every fucking moment! I dream about you every night. Sometimes I fancy you're dreaming of me at the same time, but whatever.” He rolled his eyes, fondness shining throughout the gesture. “Phil. Thank you for raising our children. Thank you for....everything. I love you. I do want to be with you forever. Soon. I promise.”

The screen went black.

The room was still, until with a strangled sob Emily's dad collapsed into Cat's lap. Emily had never known her dad to weep. The sound of it was frighteningly otherworldly. Cat stroked his head and shushed, just as she would when Jack or Emily had a bad dream.

Emily felt hands grip her elbows, pushing her up.

“Let's go,” Adrian whispered, and led her from the room. 


	4. Chapter 4

Still holding on to Emily’s shoulder, Adrian grabbed his jacket and a jumper (which turned out to be Jack’s) and propelled her out the door.

There was still light in the sky.

“Let’s walk. Which way?” Adrian asked.

Very much on autopilot, Emily started up the hill toward her spot, feeling vaguely annoyed to hear her uncle’s footsteps behind her. She only barely noticed when Pancake bounded up and shoved her nose against her hand. At the top of the hill, she stopped and turned helplessly toward Adrian.

“Any cool Viking remains around here?” he suggested.

She shook her head. “There’s a Neolithic village down on the beach. Not too far.”

“Splendid. There’s obviously plenty of daylight left.”

The three of them headed toward the beach. As they climbed over a stile, Adrian broke the silence.

“Nice to see my brother hasn’t changed much in ten years. Just a bit older. And wiser. Did seeing him jog any memories?”

“ _NO!_ ”

“Okay.” Her uncle seemed unperturbed.

They reached the coast and clambered over the rocks to the beach. The tide was out and the sea susurrated with calm grey waves. The light onshore breeze was chilly, and Emily tugged Jack’s jumper over her head.

She trudged toward the Neolithic ruins, Pancake alternately trotting behind her and investigating clumps of seaweed. Adrian kept pace with long strides.

“Dan is six years older than me. That makes a big difference when you’re kids.”

Emily kept walking.

“I suppose you get annoyed with your brother Jack for following you around and getting in your things? Imagine if he were only six.”

Emily snorted, just a bit.

“Dan must have found me impossible most of the time. He was always chasing me away. I thought he wasn't very nice to me. Of course it took me growing up to realise what a nuisance I must have been. And to appreciate all the things he helped me with and told me about. And how fiercely he protected his little brother. We were just getting to both be grown up enough to be good friends when he went away. I was surprised by how much I missed him.”

Emily didn't seem to be listening. She stopped on a rocky outcrop. “Look.”

“Wow.” 

Spread between them and the beach was a village of small stone houses. The roofless buildings were below the level of the grass-covered ground, and walled pathways connected one dwelling to the next. Built into the walls of each house were a fireplace, two beds, and a set of shelves, all made of carefully-fashioned stone.

“This has been here for 5000 years?”

“Yeah.” 

Emily slipped through the gap in the fence used by locals to visit the heritage site after hours, and Adrian followed. They wandered about and eventually stopped in one of the roofless Neolithic dwellings. The sun was finally beginning to set and twilight was creeping over the sky.

Emily sat on a stone bench and watched her feet swing slowly back and forth. “So what was my dad—Dan—like as a kid?”

“Oh....very dramatic. He was _into_ drama, of course, like acting. But he was also quite the drama queen at home. It felt like he took up most of our parents' attention. He got into epic fights with our dad at dinner—every night, it seemed. They would argue about something that happened at school, or something on the news, or whether the sky was blue. It usually ended in tears.”

“Huh,” said Emily.

“Dan always seemed to have something on his mind and he wanted to _talk_ about it. I guess he was good at getting Dad to rise to the bait. Mum almost always stayed out of it. And I couldn't get a word in edgewise.”

Emily was ready to ask more questions. “Did he ride a bike?”

“Sure, he did all the normal kid stuff. Though we lived more in town, so there were more kinds of transport. Most people didn't ride bikes everywhere the way you do here.” Adrian chuckled. “He did spend loads of time indoors on his computer, of course, but nothing like the image he projected.”

Emily frowned, but pressed on. “Did he have friends?”

“Yeah, of course. He hung out with the theatre kids, and I think there was another crowd he hung out with too when he was a bit older.”

“Did he have a best friend?”

“You have to remember I was just his little brother and didn't know everything! I don't think he really had a best friend. He did have his girlfriend, though, so that was something.”

“My dad had a girlfriend?”

“Yep, for most of high school. I liked her. She ignored me, of course, but she was nice. And pretty.”

“But he didn't want to marry her.”

“Well, no. I reckon they loved each other, but they were kids. They started wanting different things and they grew apart. They broke up when she went off to uni and your dad took his gap year.”

“So he stayed home?”

“Well....for a bit. He'd already met Phil—your papa—your dad—this _is_ confusing, isn't it. D'you know, your dads decided that Dan would be your dad, and Phil would be your papa, so there'd be less confusion. I wonder why Phil took on 'dad'. Maybe because most people just call their father 'Dad'.”

Emily had hunched over in the chill of the waning light, but it wasn't the night that was watering her eyes. She wasn't even sure what was bringing the tears welling up.

“Hey,” said her uncle softly, putting his hand on her back to rub gently between her shoulder blades. Emily resisted for a moment, but this was no time to try to act grown up. Her brain was overloaded and there was an unfamiliar ache in her heart and she couldn't process anything more. She dropped her face onto Adrian's knee—unconsciously echoing her father's collapse onto Cat's lap—and, like him, she sobbed.

* * *

Emily woke up and wondered why her back was cold but her feet and head were warm. For some reason, her bed had got hard enough to make her hip very sore. She opened her eyes to a sky becoming lighter as she watched. She was not in her bed, it would seem, and her hip bone must be feeling sore because it was resting on a stone bench built 5000 years ago. Her head was on somebody's long, jeans-clad thigh, while Pancake's head was on her own feet—the dog had wedged herself in the corner of the bench.

She felt the leg under her cheek stir. She twisted her head up and saw her uncle—this strange man she had met only a few hours ago—open his eyes and squint toward the sunrise.

“Nights are awfully short around here,” he observed.

Emily smiled as she sat up, pushing the dog off. “At home we just make sure the blinds are closed so we can sleep.”

“Shall we go home then and maybe take another nap?”

Emily's sleepy brain couldn't think of any reason not to return to her comfortable twenty-first century bed. Her heart voiced its concern that home would not feel so comfortable with the disruption to her family, and maybe it would be better to stay away. She briefly entertained the fantasy of not going back at all, but instead setting out on an adventure with her new uncle, who seemed solid and uncomplicated and had yet to disappoint or confuse her. But the prospect of sleep won out.

Cat was sitting on the front step, working some wool between her fingers. Emily came straight down the rise, trailed by Adrian and Pancake, and sat wordlessly down beside her, bumping her head against her shoulder. Cat pulled her into a comfortable hug. After a moment, she looked up at Adrian, though she didn't quite smile.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on Em.”

“Of course.” Adrian said with a slight flourish. There was perhaps the smallest hint of mockery in his tone.

Cat affected not to notice. “I've made up our guest room. You must stay here as long as you like. You are part of the family.” She stood up. “Em? We should all get some sleep. Could you show your uncle where he can sleep on your way up to bed? I'll see you both in the morning. Later in the morning, that is. I'll be in the cottage if anyone needs me.”

Emily led Adrian inside to the guest room tucked away at the back of the house. She felt suddenly shy. “I'm glad to meet you.”

“Again.” Adrian smiled and held out his hand for her to shake. “I'm glad to meet you again too.”

Emily grinned and wrapped her arms around him instead. “Goodnight!” She tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs to collapse into her bed and a deep sleep. 

* * *

Much later that morning, Emily awoke to the thud of a football in the back garden followed by the delighted yelp of her little brother. He must have found someone to play with him; she sleepily wondered who.

She found Cat in the kitchen, making coffee for her father.

“Sleep all right?”

Emily ran her fingers through her hair. “I guess so.”

“Your dad's....in the office doing some research. I know you're angry with him, but please don't pick a fight. Would you take his coffee to him?”

Emily shrugged and held out her hand. Cat kept her grip on the mug a moment longer. “Remember: not a word of any of this to Jack. All he knows is that he has a new uncle. Who will play footie with him.”

Emily nodded, and took the coffee to her father's office. The room had large south-facing windows, with a view of the family's meeting tree.

Her dad looked up and gave her a smile that she didn't return. “Good morning, Emily.” He followed his daughter's gaze as she silently handed him his mug. “Do you understand now why I planted that tree?” he asked softly.

Fury welled up from somewhere deep inside her and spilled out her mouth. “I don't care! You lied to me!” She knew she was shouting. But she knew if she looked into her father's kind blue eyes she would cry. It was safer to stay angry and stomp out of the room.

“Well, at least that was a short fight,” observed Cat as Emily reappeared in the kitchen. She handed Emily a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of toast and picked up her own coffee. “Come back to the cottage with me. I have some things to show you.”

The cottage was one large room, with a fireplace in the centre of the back wall, and a tiny toilet with a shower tucked into one corner. There was a large bed with many pillows, a table and chairs, and spots dedicated to herb drying and preservation, while another was dedicated to wool work, with carders and spindles and a small loom. Emily loved spending time in the cottage with its homely vibe and interesting projects. She sometimes wondered if Cat deliberately took on the part of a witch who had wandered in from Hogwarts. Now as they were entering the cottage, it occurred to her to wonder what life Cat might actually have wandered in from. She didn't know much about Cat from before she showed up on their doorstep when Emily was tiny.

“Sit.” Cat patted the spot on the bed beside her. “So now you know you have more of a family than you imagined. I thought I could fill you in a bit on that. Of course your dad is the ultimate authority. But I have a pretty good outsider's perspective.”

Cat reached into her small bookshelf and plucked out an old book with a worn cover. It was a book of fairytales that had belonged to Cat's mother and grandmother, and it was one of the few possessions that Cat had brought with her from Glasgow. They had read it together many times when Emily was little. Cat opened the book, careful to keep the spine from cracking, and slipped her penknife under the edge of the end paper glued to the back cover. Reaching in delicately, she pulled out three sheets of high-quality paper. Emily could see that each was colourfully printed on the underside.

“I didn't know that peeled up!”

Cat laughed. “I reckon it was a good hiding place, then, eh?” She smoothed out the pages, still lying facedown. “Your dad would be upset to know I have these. If our house were ever searched and these got found, it would be quite incriminating. Though maybe not anymore, if your dad thinks it's safe to come home.”

“My dad's coming home?”

“Yes, Em, I think that's the part you weren't listening to last night. Your dad seems to be planning a way to come home. After all these years. But he can only do it safely if we can get a key to him which will allow him to set everything he's been working on in motion. Or something. Anyway, your dad's looking for the key, and I'm sure he'll find it soon.” 

There was that ambiguity of dads again, though Emily was getting used to it. She supposed it wasn't that different to her friend Poppy's family: there were three girls in the family, and Poppy didn't seem to have any trouble talking about a “sister” and knowing which one she meant.

“But never mind about all that,” Cat murmured. “See what I have to show you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Cat flipped over the top paper in her hand. It fluttered slightly as it settled onto the duvet, setting the confetti in the photograph dancing. Brightly coloured sparkles swirled in sunlight around two men. The broad smiles on their shining faces mirrored one another. Their eyes were locked together and they were bent toward each other as though they were about to kiss. But whether or not they kissed was clearly beside the point: they were one being, bound together by joy.

Emily was entranced. One of the faces she knew intimately: she had shouted at it only minutes earlier. The bright blue eyes were not hiding behind spectacles, and in place of the faded ginger quiff was a dark black fringe. Not that those details mattered: she would know the face of her dad anywhere. Even though he looked impossibly young.

The other face was one she had seen for the first time only last night. Now that it was captured in a still image, she was able to study it in more detail. She could see the mischief in the eyes and the sweetness around the mouth and the row of curls across the forehead.

Cat's voice floated over her. “Your fathers' wedding. I don't know exactly when they got married. They kept it a secret for a long time. Your dad's hair is curly, though, so it had to be in 2017 or early 2018.”

Emily wrinkled her forehead. Cat was not making a lot of sense. “I didn't think you met my dads before. Why might you have been invited to their wedding? Did you know them?”

“Erm, well, certainly not to be invited to their wedding. But I, you know, kept track of these things. Anyway, they posted this picture and announced their wedding because of you.”

“Was _I_ at their wedding?”

“No, but you were on the way. It was time to let everyone know they were married. They announced it a month before they announced that they were expecting a baby. And a month after that, they announced their retirement. They managed to keep you out of the spotlight entirely—years of practice at keeping things private. As far as I know, a picture of you never surfaced.”

Emily had seen many photos of herself; her dad loved to take them, though she often tried to duck out of the way. It was true, though, that she had never seen any baby pictures of herself. All the pictures of their family started when they came to Scotland. She didn't know what Cat was on about with keeping her out of the spotlight, though.

Cat turned over the next photo. This one was a deep aqua-shaded blue, like the depths of the ocean. Her dads were blue too. They were standing close together, looking into the camera as fish swam behind them.

“I don't know exactly what struck me about this photo in particular. It is kind of weird, all blue like that. And it's not the most gorgeous photo of either of them by a long shot. But they were on holiday and they were sharing it with us, and it felt so intimate. As though we were in the fishbowl with them, and not just looking in.”

Emily had given up trying to make sense of Cat's narrative of fishbowls and holidays she could not possibly have been on, since she didn't even know Emily's dads then! She looked at the blue of the aquarium and her dads standing so naturally close together, and imagined what it would be like to be there too, leaning between them and feeling surrounded by dads. She supposed Jack would be there as well—maybe he could be the one taking the picture.

“Who took that picture?”

“Eh? It was a selfie, I'm sure. You can see your dad Dan was probably taking it by the way they are standing. He almost always took the selfies.”

“Selfies is when people took pictures with their phones all the time, right?”

“Yes,” Cat sighed. “All the time. It seems like people don't really take photos anymore, though of course we do. And you can take a selfie with a camera, but the camera can be a bit heavy, so people don't usually bother. And anyway, if you can't send them to anyone or post them anywhere, there doesn't seem to be much point.”

“Hm.” Emily thought she was very glad to have photos like these, just printed on nice paper, even if they never got sent anywhere or posted on the mysterious Internet.

“So that holiday snap was taken in 2017, probably a bit before the wedding one. But the last one I have is much older.”

Cat turned up the last page.

The photo was lower quality than the others, grainy and a bit blurry. It at first almost looked like a picture of children, heads and shoulders pressed together so they could both gaze into the camera. Each had a hand up to his face, and one was wearing a huge furry hat. Their expressions said: here we are and we are here together.

Emily peered closer. No, it really was her dads, long ago. “How old....?”

“That was shortly after they met in real life. Your dad was 18 and your papa was 22.”

“What do you mean 'met in real life'?”

Cat smiled wistfully. “Back in the time of the Internet, people had loads of friends online. You knew people all over the world, and you could find someone to talk to any time of the day or night. Sometimes, if you could, you met them in person. Then you would know them 'in real life' too. When the Internet went down for good, many people lost most of their friends. Forever. And there was no way of ever finding them because everything you knew about them was on the Internet too.”

“So my dads met on the Internet.” Emily mulled this information over. “Did they fall in love on the Internet, or not till they met in real life?”

“Well,” Cat laughed. “That was certainly up for debate. The evidence suggests they were pretty into each other even before they met in real life. But I think you can't properly fall in love with someone until you meet them face-to-face. There is so much to a person that you can only find out when you are in the same space, breathing the same air. And I think you need that to know whether you are truly in love with them.”

Emily was confused again. “What do you mean there was a debate? And what 'evidence' are you talking about?”

Cat pressed her lips together. “Em, what do you know about what your dad did for a living before he moved to Scotland and became an English teacher?”

“He was a video editor. That's what his other degree was in. Besides English. He said that when the war broke out, nobody was interested in videos, and anyway, he was tired of doing that. He likes being an English teacher better.”

“Hm, yes, he does seem to like teaching. But the main reason they retired, like I said, was because they were starting their family and wanted a private life. 

“It's funny,” Cat mused. “In all the years that I've lived in his household, I've never really asked your dad about the past. That's partly, of course, because we didn't want little ears overhearing. But after so many years of being so invasive into everything about him—about both your dads—I felt I didn't really deserve to know.”

“Cat!” Emily was petulant. “I still don't know what you're talking about.”

“Very well.” Cat settled her back against the wall. “Get yourself comfortable. It's a wild tale that a young'un like you won't believe.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but lay down on her tummy facing Cat. Cat had always been a good storyteller. And this story should be especially good—it was, after all, about the life of Emily's dads before she was born.

“Your dads were some of Britain's biggest YouTube stars.”

Emily leapt up again. “ _WHAT!!_ ”

Cat pulled her back down. “Yep.” There was the tiniest hint of smugness in Cat's voice. “I know that what I'm telling you will sound like a fairytale. But it's all true. And don't go thinking of yourself as some fairytale princess! Though....I suppose some people said that your dads had a fairytale love story.”

“Cat!”

“Emily! Once upon a time, way back in '06, your papa Phil thought it would be fun to post videos on the internet, so he started a YouTube channel. He had some fans, from all over the world. He made some really creative and quirky videos—some of them were even marvellously creepy. He also made videos where he looked at the camera and told a story about his day—that was called vlogging. I love his videos from those first few years....Anyway, over time, he got more and more fans. And one of those fans was named Dan Howell.”

“My other dad.”

“Indeed. In '09, your dad decided he was interested in making videos. Maybe he decided he was interested in your papa too. Anyway, he started reaching out to your papa, to get his attention. Which he eventually got—obviously. They became friends online, and once they met in real life they never looked back.”

“So both my dads made videos on the Internet?”

“Yeah. They each started with their own channel, but they were most popular together. Even from the very beginning. The day after they met in real life, they made a video together, and many people immediately assumed they were boyfriends. They were so cute together—like in that picture.” Cat's voice was soft and wistful.

“Did they tell people they were boyfriends?”

“No, they never did. That's the interesting part. They were always together and everyone could see the chemistry between them—in the videos, the pictures, their interactions online. But they never said they were boyfriends—even after they moved in together, even after they had lived and worked together for years.

“There was a terrible period when they actually denied it. They had got really popular, and they were about to branch out into a radio show. Then some people distributed an old love letter from your papa to your dad. It was meant to be private, of course, but it had accidentally been made public online for the briefest of moments. That was long enough for some people to see it and save it. And publicise it later.

“Cos, you know, nothing was really private on the Internet. One good thing about without it is that we've got some of our privacy back.” Cat shook her head.” I do miss it so, though. Not gonna lie.”

Emily wasn't interested in comparing the merits of the past versus the present. “So, wait. My dads always pretended they weren't together? But you said they got married.”

“Well, yeah, exactly. Their wedding announcement—after more than eight years—was the first time they admitted they were together. But almost everyone had already come to that conclusion. Just the fact that they were so together for so long was almost proof enough. We found loads of other sorts of proof, too, of course.”

“What sorts of proof?”

“A thousand little things. None of which proved anything by itself, but all pointing in the same direction. Like, I remember a picture one of their friends posted online. It showed three people sat on a sofa. There was plenty of room for them all to spread out, but your dads were squashed into one half of the sofa and their friend had the other half.”

“Who found all this proof?” Emily was realising that Cat's tale was turning into a detective story. It sounded exciting. It also sounded weird. Who spent their time gathering proof about someone's relationship—let alone her dads'?

“Erm.” Cat shifted uncomfortably. “Ah. Well. Me. Me and some other people. Well, thousands of other people. So many fans were so interested in the mystery. In the denials in the face of such strong chemistry. 

“But anyway, yeah, me. I got really invested. A group of online friends and I dug up everything we could find about their relationship. And shared it. I hosted one of the biggest sites about them for a long time. I did a good job collecting and organizing and publishing what I knew about them. And I admit, I basked in the attention. And how people came to me for answers. Thousands of people followed me. Tens of thousands, to be honest.”

“You had tens of thousands of fans?”

“Yeah. Crazy, isn't it. They only thing that made me special, really, was that I knew way too much about two guys' lives. Two guys that I had never even met.”

“So you had a fandom.”

“Well, not really. We were all part of the Phandom. Which is spelt with a 'P-h' by the way.”

“Huh?”

“Well.” Cat paused. “Why is this so hard to explain? When a group of fans like to see two entertainers—or two characters, in a book, or whatever—together, they combine their two names to represent the combination. Like a portmanteau—remember your Humpty Dumpty? So, for example, the supposed relationship between Harry and Draco was called Drarry. See?”

“OK....”

“So 'Phil' and 'Dan' together make 'Phan'. Which makes the fandom for Phan the P-h-andom. Which I always thought was rather clever. Personally.”

Emily rolled onto her back, lost in thought. Cat's hands, of their own accord, had taken up a bit of wool some time ago and were expertly drawing it up and down with a spindle. Eventually the sun moved past the high summer noon and angled through the window behind the bed, throwing bright light into Emily's eyes. She shook herself and sat up. 

“I guess it was your hobby to find out everything you could about my dads.”

Cat snorted. “My obsession, more like. Yeah. We Phans gave them their living, by watching their videos, and buying their books and t-shirts. But we also were always, always in their business. Which must have been exhausting. And why they planned to retire when they'd made enough money and were ready to start a family. We were important to them, but I sometimes think they secretly hated us.”

“You and my dad are friends!”

“Well, yeah. I was so invasive, finding out and sharing things I had no business knowing. I think your dad has forgiven me, though. It was long ago, and I was a different person then. We all were.”

“Did you share every detail you found out?”

“No....I was very careful not to reveal information that helped people stalk them. And I certainly never harassed your Uncle Adrian. Though I don't suppose he'd believe me.”

“Why did people harass my uncle? Did he make videos too?”

“No, no. When people found out that your dad had a little brother that looked like him, some people thought if they could get his attention it would somehow be a substitute for getting attention from your dad. They bombarded Adrian so much online that he had to hide away. It must have been very hard for him—it was nothing he'd ever asked for.”

“I can see why he must hate you.”

“I reckon.” Cat looked glum. They were quiet again for a bit. 

“I have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“How did you find us? Was it because you knew everything?”

Cat laughed and her face brightened. “Yeah, pretty much. Your dads retired, but it’s not like they got new identities. I was still able to keep tabs on them—even as the Internet was unwinding. I had my fingers on all the right strands of the web, you might say.”

“So that explains why you're always spinning.”

Cat dropped her spindle at the sound of the new voice in the open doorway. Adrian ducked to fit through the door and arranged himself against the doorframe.

“Uncle Adrian!” Emily found she enjoyed how saying the familial relationship rolled off her tongue. “Cat was telling me more about my dads. How they were YouTube stars and stuff. And how nobody knew they were boyfriends. Hey—did you know they were boyfriends?”

“Of course. My brother told me all the details of his love life.”

Emily and Cat gaped at him.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “Don't take me seriously. I was 12. But yeah. It was never a secret in our family.”

“Good to know,” Cat murmured with quiet satisfaction.

Jack careened through the gap in the doorway, bumping into Adrian. “Look, Em! We've got an uncle!”

“Yeah, I've already met him.”

Jack dropped onto the bed between Cat and his sister. “Bet you haven't played football with him. And he said he'd go on a bike ride to look at Viking runes. I guess you can come.”

Emily’s head was way too full of facts and thoughts that needed sorting out. She slid off the bed. A ride—by herself, with Pancake racing to keep up with the bike—was just what she needed.

“Hey, Em.” Her brother was so annoying.

“What?” 

“You _are_ part of our family! There's proof now!”

“How d'you reckon?”

“You look just like our uncle! So you _have_ to be related!”


	6. Chapter 6

The long summer days slid one into the next. School broke up and Emily and Jack were free to roam as far as their feet or bikes would take them. Their father remained inside, finishing up the year's paperwork at school and working in his own office, increasingly distracted as he tried to solve the mystery that Adrian had brought him. Sometimes he conferred with Cat deep into the night.

Adrian borrowed both his brother-in-law's bike and his camera. He had had to leave his own equipment behind and was eager to flex his photographic artistry. Each day he rode out to take gorgeous pictures of the breathtakingly windswept Orkney landscape and the ever-changing surrounding seas. Most of the time he went off on his own, but he did go to look at Viking runes with Jack as promised, and Jack allowed Emily to come too, as promised.

Emily found herself jealous of the time Jack spent with Adrian, out on their bikes or playing football. Surely Adrian was more her uncle than Jack's? But she supposed that wasn't fair. And anyway, she couldn't let on to Jack that there was any difference between them as far as their uncle was concerned. Especially since Jack saw Adrian as proof of their family unity.

When she wasn't helping their father, Cat was living her Cat life, spending extra time in the garden as it was summer. She, too, often spent a solitary day in the countryside, though she generally preferred walking to riding her bike, the better to observe the plant life growing in the fields and ditches and along the lanes. 

The household would convene for dinner after their various daytime treks. One evening, Adrian suggested they all walk out to the Neolithic village. He wanted to take some photos of the prehistoric structures in the long evening sunlight. They all went—even Emily's dad agreed it would be nice to stretch his legs. Adrian took shots of the beach—with Pancake chasing the waves, and of the village buildings—with Jack in goofy poses (Jack knew, as they all did, to be very careful of the stones and not dislodge millennia-old handiwork). He captured an image of Cat with the sun behind her, hair turned to a golden halo, and surprised a smile onto her face when he showed it to her. 

Emily was sat on a stone ledge, looking out at the Atlantic, when her father came to sit beside her. She stiffened, not shifting her gaze from the surf. She had been avoiding her dad since the fateful evening when her uncle came to the gate, and everything changed. It wasn't too hard when her dad kept to the house; it was annoying that he had come along on this walk and forced her to actively ignore him. 

“You could sail all the way to America from here. It's such a huge country with so many different states. I enjoyed visiting as many as I could. I've told you about all the times I visited Flo-rida.” He dad always used his exaggerated American accent, complete with a hard 'r', when he said that state's name. 

“Yeah, you went there with your family loads of times.” Emily rolled her eyes. “And with....?”

Her dad's blue-eyed gaze was serious. “Yes, of course. With all my family.”

Just then, Adrian glided in front of them and raised his camera to capture father and daughter chatting in the burnished twilight. Emily leapt up and stomped off.

“I don't want my picture taken with _him_!”

She heard her father sigh behind her. 

* * *

More summer days slid by. Emily ranged about the countryside on her bike, usually with Pancake loping beside her. Sometimes she rode too fast for the dog, but Pancake always found her, flopped down in the shade or poking about in a hedgerow. Emily stayed in touch with Poppy and a few other friends via text, but as she couldn't share most of what was on her mind she usually was at a loss for words. She spent a day with Poppy in the sheep fields (Pancake left behind so as not to unnecessarily herd Poppy's grandma's sheep), but the usually enjoyable activities of wool-gathering and lamb-counting left her restless.

Then came a rainy day. Not a day with threatening clouds or fine steady drizzle or annoyingly intermittent showers. That was just normal British weather and not something to slow a country kid down. This was a day with steady, thick, cold rain—enough to keep everyone indoors. It felt crowded after so many days outside, especially with the extra family member—yet another tall person with long legs and big feet.

Emily escaped to her room under the eaves. During last Christmas holidays, Cat had set her the task of going through the entire room and deciding what to do with all her old toys, clothing that no longer fit, and bits of shell and pebbles and other detritus which she had collected long ago, for reasons she couldn't quite remember. Clothes were given away, mementos packed up, and rubbish thrown out. Emily quite liked the new, more grown-up aesthetic, and even made an effort to maintain it by keeping her room reasonably neat. As an acknowledgement of her status as a nearly-teenager, her toy bins had been replaced by a desk and her old bed was supplanted by a stylish new one with built-in shelves.

She picked up a book and flopped down on the bed. She was used to just devouring a book in a day, but these days she found it hard to concentrate. Instead of providing a distraction, even her favourite stories seemed only to lead her thoughts in confusing directions at the turn of every page. She wondered why her life must stop being simple and straightforward and instead feel as though she had fallen into a novel.

She wasn't even sure exactly why she was so bothered. Obviously, finding out she had a long-lost father was a shock. Her life had been so self-contained that it had never occurred to her that she might have another parent—either father or mother—out there somewhere. It seemed like she should be excited at the idea of seeing him again. But she couldn't imagine what that would be like, and it was anyway impossibly far in the future, if it ever happened at all. 

Emily was more excited about learning she had an uncle, to be honest. It seemed magical to have a stranger tumble through her gate and turn out to be a close relative. She didn't remember having met him when she was a baby, of course, but it felt as though she had known him forever, and her affection for him was uncomplicated. Something about him was just comfortable and easy to be around.

She still wasn't sure why she was so angry with her father—her papa (it felt weird to think of him as “papa” rather than “dad”—there was something so unsettling about the different names). Was she mad simply because there was so much he hadn't told her? She didn't think that was quite it: she couldn't really expect him to tell her everything he had done before she was born, and she did understand the concern about little kids blurting out secrets. 

Why was her dad such a secret, though? Emily had no idea what he could possibly be doing to warrant being under such deep cover—as she supposed he was—to make it prudent to move his family out of the country. And even more mysterious: why, after ten years—ten years!—was it now okay to come home? Emily was quite sure the war was still going on; she couldn't imagine what might have changed.

Her dad wouldn't be coming _home_ , though, would he? She didn't suppose he had ever been to Orkney—she knew her papa hadn't before they moved here. Her dad only knew Emily as a tiny kid—probably too small to be very interesting, and he hadn't even met Jack. Well, at least he'd be coming home to his husband. But they hadn't so much as talked in ten years! Emily thought that even for an adult, ten years must seem like a lifetime. Cat had told her how her dads seemed to have spent nearly every waking minute of their lives by each other's side for more than ten years. Was that enough to sustain them during ten years apart?

The rain still fell and Emily was bored. She got off the bed and desultorily made her way around the room, picking bits of paper off the floor and lining up books on her desk. When she got back to her bed, she examined the top shelf of her headboard, crowded with the remaining toys and dolls of her childhood—the ones that she couldn't bear to throw away. They were now more sentimental decorations than playthings. There was the rag doll which she had made with Cat, dressed in little garments sewn from Cat's homespun. There was the figure from the princess film she watched a hundred times when she was seven. And there was—where was it? Something was missing, her oldest possession. She pulled all her plushies forward, to make sure it wasn't hiding behind them. She lifted up the collapsed marionette flamingo with improbable rainbow wings, but it wasn't under that. A bit frantic now, she slid her hand between the mattress and the wall, but it wasn't hiding there either. She got down on her hands and knees, and there it was, under her bed, ignominiously surrounded by scattered balls of dust and dog hair. She pulled it out, brushed it off, and hugged it to her chest.

Her Tonberry plushie was the only thing her two-year-old self had brought from England. She knew the story—they had traveled across the Border carrying almost nothing. Her dad had carried a small backpack, which was almost entirely full of baby supplies for Jack. And he carried Jack too, of course. He'd had a baby carrier strapped to his chest, but he and Jack both preferred it when he cradled the infant in his arms (and there was no one to fuss that he would drop the baby).

And Emily had carried the Tonberry plushie. It was part of family lore that she would never let it go. She clutched it in her hand as her father held fast her other hand, she hugged it in her sleep, and she pinned it between her tummy and the table when she had to use her hands to eat. When they got to Orkney and settled into their new home, she gradually loosened her grip on it, and eventually she no longer needed to carry it everywhere with her. But for years afterward, Tonberry continued to live in her bed, and was always cuddled into her dreams. Only lately, under the new aesthetic, had Tonberry been exiled to the shelf. From which it had apparently leapt beneath the bed out of broken-heartedness at its abandonment. 

Tonberry looked as though it had been through more wars than Emily had. Its original bright yellow coat was now a bilious grey, and the green plush skin was more spiky than soft, despite the careful sponging Cat had given it after milk had been spilled on it. Her father had told her that the Tonberry was a character from a fantasy game he used to play; it had once carried a knife and a lantern in its hands, but those had not made it across the Border (or perhaps had been removed as choking hazards, now that Emily thought about it). Tonberry's clothing had been patched, and many of the seams attaching its limbs to its trunk had split at some time or other and required sewing up. One particularly bad split at the back of the neck, under the collar of the coat, had opened up under stress so regularly that the material on either side of the gap had frayed, making repairs ever more difficult and unsightly. 

Emily ran her finger over the puckered stitching, which was again unraveling. That split at the back of Tonberry's neck had always been there. She supposed that it kept re-splitting because she would worry it with her finger as she was doing right now. Poking her finger into the gap was a special part of her connection to her most special possession. So many memories were layered into this plushie: curling up to sleep with it while her father sang to her in his deep voice; telling Jack that he must never ever touch her Tonberry and chasing him out of her room; sticking a needle into Tonberry's neck and feeling a pain in her own as Cat tried to teach her how to sew. 

She could even remember carrying it on a long trip. Or was she only remembering what she had been told? She thought she remembered sitting on a train holding Tonberry on her lap just as her father was holding the infant Jack. She thought she remembered trailing behind her father along a dirt path as it started to rain, and him reaching back and catching her up, and somehow running to shelter carrying Jack and her and Tonberry all in his arms. She thought she remembered sitting on the floor in a huge room full of people, and her father setting a sleeping Jack down beside her and telling her to hold onto Jack as tightly as she held on to Tonberry, while he went across the room to get them some food. She remembered....

She remembered. 

She remembered her father handing her Tonberry. But not this father. Not the father who rode his bicycle to school, who held family meetings under the nectarine tree, who brushed back her curls and took her picture. Not the father who had taken her on a long journey from England to Scotland on a train and in the rain.

Her dad. Her dad had given her the Tonberry. She remembered being sat in a warm comfortable lap, and held onto tight. She remembered being safe and loved and able to face anything while nestled in those protective arms. And she remembered her dad handing her the Tonberry and wrapping her own toddler arms around the plushie. Her dad held her tight and she held Tonberry tight.

And then he was gone. Arms that had always held her had vanished, and the world was big and cold. But she could hold onto Tonberry to remind herself of feeling safe. And hold on she did. Tonberry was her anchor in the strange new world she traveled through with her father and her brother. 

How could she have forgotten her dad? How could she suddenly remember him so clearly now, ten years later, just because she held the Tonberry in her hands? Her dad must have given her the Tonberry when he knew he had to go away, and he showed her two-year-old self that she could hold on to it tight, so she could remember what it felt like to be held by him. 

Tonberry had always been important to her and she had never wondered why. But now she understood: the plushie had stood in for the love of her dad, even after she had forgotten him. 

Though she was much bigger at twelve than she had been at two, Tonberry could still fill her arms as she hugged it tight once more. She rocked it back and forth as she had so often done, and dropped a kiss onto its smelly head. The ever-present split seam on its neck scratched at her cheek. And she had another revelation.

She shoved a finger into the gap, impatiently working the repair thread loose. She wriggled her fingers down inside the plushie's back. It was tight work—her fingers had grown since the last time she had done this. She paddled two fingers through the stuffing toward the centre of the doll until she found its heart. Its heart was a soft, round lump. She had explored that lump in detail all those times that the gap on Tonberry's neck had opened up (often widening the gap). But she had never removed the heart, under a childish conviction that doing so would kill Tonberry.

Emily was not a child now. And she was certain she knew what was in the heart of the Tonberry her dad had given her.


	7. Chapter 7

Her papa looked up as Emily stepped into his office. Outside, the rain had stopped, and a bit of late afternoon sun poked through the clouds to catch sparkles on the wet grass. Uncle Adrian and Jack had already gone out to run around, and probably fall down in the mud. Emily had seen Cat from her window upstairs, riding her bike into town on an errand. Emily had her papa to herself. She held out the Tonberry.

“I remember my dad giving this to me.”

“You do?” Her papa stood and came toward her. “That's amazing. I didn't know whether hearing about him would bring your memories back to you. You were so very young.”

Her papa glided his fingertips down one of the Tonberry's arms. “I gave this to your dad.”

“ _You_ gave it to him?”

“For our first Christmas together. He said it was the best present anyone had ever given him. Every Christmas after he would remind me that he had never got a better present from anyone.”

Emily toyed with Tonberry's foot. “Do you think somehow I always knew he gave it to me? Even if I couldn't remember? I still can't really remember him. I don't think. It's so confusing.”

Her papa's smile was tentative. “I'm sorry I helped make it confusing.”

“Uncle Adrian said that you decided to have me call you 'dad' because it was easier.”

Phil cocked his head. “When you were a baby, you screamed and cried for your dad the moment you became scared or upset. And when he came to you, you immediately calmed down. On those rare occasions when he wasn't available, you eventually would accept me as a substitute, but not without a bit of a fuss. Even after he left, you always cried for him first, though you only ever got me. Then we started traveling, and it was easiest—and safest—to let people think that you wanted me, not some other dad. You eventually seemed to accept that I was all you were going to get.”

Emily folded her arms around the Tonberry and looked at her father. 

“Why did you let him leave us?”

His eyes widened with surprise. “You must understand that neither of us thought he'd be gone very long. A year. Maybe two at the most. We did know how hard it would be on you. And we surely knew how hard it was for both him and me. But it was important. It was work your dad could do and maybe no one else. And the fate of the world seemed at stake. I don't really know, but I like to think that your dad is holding back complete chaos all by himself.”

Emily's papa let his gaze drift out the window toward the little nectarine tree swaying in the sun, each leaf still glittering with raindrops. “I have to tell myself that. Every day as the years have gone by: he can't come home because the world will fall apart if he does. And also, if the world hasn't fallen apart it's because he's still there holding it together.

“My grandma told me that if a loved one goes missing, plant a tree and care for it, and the tree will take root in the ground and reach up into the sky and pass your love on. It will be”—he waved his hands—“a conduit. And your love can reach them through the tree, wherever they are. Look at how well that tree has grown! As long as it is alive and well, I know he must be too.”

Emily went to the windowsill for a closer look. “Why did you pick a nectarine tree?”

Her papa's smile was broad. “Why, it's your dad's favourite fruit, of course.”

“So when we have our family meetings at the tree....”

“Yes.”

Emily watched as a small breeze shook droplets from the nectarine tree. She wondered if a concern for safety was really the only reason her papa had never told her about her dad. After all, loads of people seemed to know about him, really. It somehow felt like more than that. It felt as though maybe he was trying to _hide_ her dad from her. Was he trying to keep her dad to himself? Was he trying to keep _her_ to himself? It was still too confusing. 

Emily was still pretty angry with her papa. But she missed him a bit too. So when he asked her to come sit by his knee, she did, and rested her cheek against his jeans.

Her papa reached out to stroke her hair. He pushed his long fingers through her tangles, then drew them back to leave a row of curls along her forehead. He had been doing this to her hair as long as Emily could remember, and she sighed into the touch on her scalp. Her papa delicately poked one curl.

“This one,” he said. “For a long time, I thought you had the exact same curl as your dad—right here. I loved his curls and this one was my favourite. But....these are _your_ curls. Maybe this is my favourite of your curls, and I'm just misremembering them as his.” His voice was a little thick. 

“Do you think I look just like my dad?”

“You look just like his daughter,” her papa answered promptly. “I see you in him, and seeing you helps me to remember him. But you are very much you. I have known you since the day you were born—I can't look at you and not see twelve wonderful years of you being you.”

They sat in silence for a bit, Phil still with his fingers wrapped in his daughter's hair, Emily still with her cheek on her father's knee.

Emily broke the silence. “So, papa.”

“Yes? And it makes my heart warm that you are calling me that again, by the way.”

“Papa. I have the key you've been looking for. That my dad told you about.”

“What? How—?”

Emily plunged her fingers into Tonberry's neck one more time, and yanked out the lump that was its heart.

She prised the wad of cotton wool open. A tiny data chip shook into her palm, and she held it up to her father.

She saw disbelief on his face, as he glanced at the chip and back at her. Then a grin appeared, tempered with dismay. “I can't believe I never thought you would have it.” Outrage took over his features. “That was so risky, putting a dangerous secret with a child!” Then a touch of admiration appeared in his eyes. “No one else ever thought to look there either. All the times I was searched, they just let you run around my feet. Holding your Tonberry.” The grin came back. “Brilliant!”

Emily had been patiently watching her father's face, waiting for his mind to still. “So now we take it to him, right?”

“We?”

Emily stood up, nodded firmly, and held out her hand. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback feeds the author! Let me know what you think! There is much more to come in this story....
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://phinalphantasy7.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [The Orkney Islands](https://www.visitorkney.com/about), off the northern tip of Scotland, are one of the world's magical places. [Skara Brae](https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/skara-brae/) is a Neolithic village much as I describe here, though sadly you are not allowed to sit on the furniture.
> 
> “The World Turned Upside Down” is a song made familiar by the musical “Hamilton”. It was originally a centuries-old English song, which reputedly was played by the British army as it surrendered at Yorktown at the end of the American Revolutionary War.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_In which:_** Emily has trouble starting her journey across the Border; packing can be complicated; Phil shares his feelings with his daughter.
> 
> **_Excerpt:_ **
> 
> “Papa.”
> 
> He looked up at her. He seemed so tired. His glasses were smudged, as though somehow reflecting the dark smudges under his eyes. Emily wondered whether the sadness she saw written on his face was about his long-missed husband, or worry that she would be leaving him too. Perhaps he was just tired of all the excitement, and wished things could go back to the way they were.
> 
> _**Summary:** Emily Lester lives in idyllic Orkney, Scotland, with her father and little brother, far from the Border of the war with England which has made the Internet a distant memory. One day, the war comes to her doorstep and everything changes. This is a story about war, politics, and the Internet, but mostly about what family means to a teenage girl._

Emily stood with her father where the Atlantic Ocean met the North Sea. They had first stood on this levy when she was very small, not long after they had come to the Orkney Islands. Phil had shown her the seam where the two huge bodies of water joined yet stayed distinct. the waves moving in different directions, grey on one side and blue on the other. 

Some moments with her father were magical like this—moments when Phil would point out some part of the world that fascinated him, and relate all sorts of facts about it (and possibly some fantasies). Emily would never forget what it was like to watch two oceans come together, and every time she thought of it, she thought of him.

If Emily were to contemplate what her father meant to her, her mind would be filled with memories like this: perfect moments between just the two of them, when a complete idea formed in his brain nestled into hers, and she saw the world through his eyes.

Emily kicked at the levy. She was being silly, storing up memories as though she would never see her father again. She was going on a long journey, and her papa had brought her here for time for just the two of them before she left. But of course she was coming back home. And her papa wasn't going to disappear either. He'd be right here when she got back. And everything would be just the same.

Emily was leaving. That had been a very long negotiation. The unexpected arrival of Uncle Adrian, and the revelation of her other, long-lost, father, had brought total chaos to the Lester household. When Emily found the data chip containing the secret key her father Dan needed, buried in the heart of her Tonberry, further uproar had ensued. Emily had insisted that she would be the one to return the key to her other dad on the other side of the Border.

“He left it in _my_ Tonberry. Of course he meant me to be the one to bring it back to him,” she had stoutly explained to the adults sat at the dining table.

“Emily, you are being childish.” Her father's voice was weary. “Dan did not think ten years would pass before he would need it. He expected you to still be a small child, so of course you would not bring it to him.”

“Did he, though?” That was Cat. “He always struck me as someone who took a very long view.”

Phil's weariness turned to irritation. “How would _you_ know? You've never met him.”

Cat looked as though she'd been slapped.

“Maybe his plan was to sow discord, and let everyone fight it out. Let the best one win, and all that,” drawled Adrian.

“You're not helping!” snapped Cat. 

Adrian shrugged. “I'm not sure why this is so difficult. Phil can't go, because he daren't show his face in England. _I_ can't go, because I just left—snuck out, really—and I might attract attention going back the other way. _You_ could go.”

“Er, no,” said Cat. “Listen to me. I could never pass for English once I opened my mouth.”

The adults all politely looked at Emily as though they seriously considered her as an option—just for a moment—then turned back to each other, about to recommence their discussion.

“Hey!”

There was irritation on the other faces around the table.

“I said I was going.”

“Emily,” said Cat. “It's hardly safe for a 12-year-old girl to travel by herself.”

“I've been going everywhere by myself for years,” Emily replied stubbornly. “I don't see why it's so different.”

“You know this countryside like the back of your hand, and you come home to dinner and your bed every night. That's why it's different.”

Adrian was studying his niece. “You don't think you'd be afraid? You would probably have to sleep outside. At least sometimes. And you couldn't carry much with you. So maybe you'd be hungry some days. Or wet and cold from the rain.”

Emily latched on to the last part of what her uncle said. “I don't mind getting wet and cold.”

“That's certainly true,” Cat agreed. “And you don't seem to be much bothered about missing dinner. Not like your brother Jack.”

“See?” said Emily. “And I've camped outside. With the Girl Guides.”

“Hm.” said Adrian. “Did the Girl Guides teach you how to use maps? Tell your way by the sun and the stars?”

“Of course!”

“It's true,” Cat interjected. “The Girl Guides in Scotland have got a pretty good program to teach self-reliance. I think kids these days are better at navigating than those of us who grew up expecting always to have a phone or a satnav in hand.”

“Very well. Then maybe she can manage it. Emily certainly does not lack confidence. And I think she can be brave.” He smiled at his niece and there was a twinkle in his eye. 

“I'm her father, and Emily is not going anywhere.” Phil stood up. “Maybe this key will never get delivered.” His face set, he met the eye of each other person in the room, before turning and going out the door.

* * *

Jack was kicking the football with Uncle Adrian. Emily watched from the steps of Cat's cottage. Cat sat down beside her and looked around. 

“Do you really think you could leave here?”

“I would come back.” Doubt crept into Emily's voice. “What, do you think I won't come back?”

Cat smiled and put her hand on Emily's knee. “Don't worry. I'm sure you're not trying to run away from home. Not even from your annoying little brother, eh?”

“No.” How did Cat know that she had just been thinking that she might actually miss Jack if she went away?

“But it is dangerous,” said Cat gently. “I'm not sure you really understand how far you will have to travel. And I know Adrian just came through the Border, but you have to be aware that some people get caught.”

“Papa said that they ignore kids at the Border.”

“I'm not sure that's exactly what he said. When you were two—and Jack a baby—the guards at the crossing didn't pay much attention to you. Because you were so small. But you're ten years older now. And you won't be going through a crossing. You'll be sneaking over. If you're caught with the key, it will be hard to pretend you are innocent.”

“I don't think anyone'll think I'm a threat. No one ever pays much attention to me. I go pretty much wherever I want.”

“You have a point there,” Cat sighed. “We are well into the 21st century, and people still don't take girls seriously.”

“Isn't sneaking across the Border mostly traveling over open country? So I wouldn't necessarily even run into anyone. And I am good at hiding from people who are looking for me, you know.”

Cat arched an eyebrow. “I see.”

“You can help me pack, can't you?”

“First I have to help you persuade your dad.”

“Thank you!” Emily flung her arms around her.

Jack appeared in front of them, panting and clutching the ball. 

“Hey, Em! What are you so excited for?”

“Nothing!” Emily scowled at her brother. “A surprise.”

Jack bounded off again, looking for Pancake; the border collie had decided that she didn't much like football, and tended to make herself scare whenever the ball was kicked about.

Adrian hunkered down in the grass near the step, pushing sweaty curls back from his forehead.

“Cat agrees I should go, and she will help me talk to my papa!”

“She will, will she?” He grinned at Cat, who scoffed and looked away.

“Don't you think I should go?”

Her uncle became serious. “I don't know about _should_ , but I reckon you can do it. I've been thinking, and you won't really need to travel alone for all of the journey. It will be easier for you to leave here if the first leg is a trip with the family. And then I can keep on with you most of the way to the Border as the rest come back. You will still probably have to do the actual Border on your own. But when you get to the other side, someone will need to meet you to tell you where to go next. With luck, they will accompany you on the next stage.”

“Really? You'll go with me as far as the Border?”

“Yeah, I don't see why not. It's not like I'm needed around here. Or will be missed if I'm gone.”

Cat cocked her head and said in a mock-serious voice, “Jack will be heartbroken.”

Adrian winked in return. “Don't worry. I do intend to come back.”

Emily was impatient. “Yeah, anyway, we'll have to come up with a good reason why I get to go with you and he doesn't.”

“I think we need to involve your father before our plans get too elaborate. He's the master plan maker in the household. And you still need his permission before you're going anywhere,” Cat added pointedly.

So once again, just like after she found the chip, Emily steeled herself in the doorway of her father's office. She felt a little afraid—he might still say no to her going, despite all her reasons, despite getting Cat and Uncle Adrian on her side. Emily wasn't very good at bargaining or compromise. Her strategy was always to state what she wanted, then present her best arguments. And hope her father agreed. She never knew what to do when he did not agree, and all that usually happened next was shouting and tears. Her father was stubborn, and so, apparently, was she.

“Papa.”

He looked up at her. He seemed so tired. His glasses were smudged, as though somehow reflecting the dark smudges under his eyes. Emily wondered whether the sadness she saw written on his face was about his long-missed husband, or worry that she would be leaving him too. Perhaps he was just tired of all the excitement, and wished things could go back to the way they were. 

“Papa.” 

He smiled at her, crow's feet blooming. “Come sit?”

She didn't hesitate to sit at his feet and press her nose against his jeans leg as she let him stroke her hair.

“I know you need to go on this mission, child,” he said. “I do have complete faith in you—you know that, don't you?” He slid his hand down her jaw to lift her chin. “Emily Lester is the most intrepid young lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And to think she is my own daughter!

“I'm very worried about your safety, though. That's my job. But there is still a war going on that involves all of us, and I can't stop you from playing your part so we can win it. Especially when you insist so bravely.”

Emily looked up at him. “So does my dad know that I'm the only one who can bring the key?”

“I don't think he knows that. I don't even expect he knows that it's his brother who brought us the message. I think, for everyone's safety, that he knows almost nothing about the outside world. Remember he didn't even know Jack's name?”

“What do you mean, for everyone's safety?”

Her papa picked his words carefully. “His work is so dangerous. If he is ever....compromised, he doesn't want to know anything that would betray us. The less he knows about us, the less he can tell an enemy. And, of course, the less we know about him, the same.”

“Which is why you didn't even know whether he was still alive.”

Her father's mouth twisted. “Yes.” 

“So....you said I can go? Really?”

“You're sure you want to?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Emily was enveloped in one of his warm and comfortable and amazing hugs. And for a moment she held on tight. Her papa gently pulled back.

“Now that we've got that sorted, let's get you on your way whilst it's still summer.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of gathering supplies and working through logistics. 

Emily's bag got packed: 

“You want something minimal,” Adrian told her. “Like a small school backpack.” 

“You want just three of everything,” Cat said. “One to wash, one to wear, one to dry. And maybe one extra pair of knickers.” 

“Don't forget a torch,” was her father's advice.

A cover for Emily's departure was devised: 

“We'll go on family holiday to Inverness,” decided Cat. 

“And all take bikes,” added Adrian. “Then Emily and I can leave from there.” 

“How _Sound of Music_ of us!” exclaimed her father. 

A scheme for how to hide the key was worked out: 

“I'll sew it in—” said Cat. 

“That's a good idea—” said Adrian. 

“I don't want to know!” her father clapped his hands over his ears.

* * *

The sky had clouded over while Emily and Phil ate their snacks, perched companionably on rocks overlooking the clashing seas.

Emily saw a dark head poke up far out on the waves. “Look, Dad—Papa!” She still sometimes forgot that he was Papa and someone else was now Dad.

Her papa squinted and shaded his eyes with his long slim fingers. “A fine selkie princess,” he nodded.

“It's just a seal.” Emily shook her head, but she watched her father with a half-smile to see what he would say next. 

“No.” He regarded her solemnly. “A princess. She lives in a big cave under the water. Right underneath us. The tide only gets low enough to reveal it at the full moon. With all her sheep.”

“What!?” Emily relished the absurd turns her father's stories took. 

“She has decided to knit jumpers for all her court. To keep them warm in the sea. Maybe she's actually Cat.”

“Oh, Papa.”

“Emily.” His voice sounded a bit odd. “I'm glad you're getting your dad back. I know how much you need him, even if you might not know it. I hope—I hope it hasn't been so long that your connection has broken. He was your entire world. And he adored you. You have grown so much—but— I just hope you can pick up with him where you left off.”

Emily frowned. She had been carefully not thinking about what it would be like when she saw her dad. There was a long journey before that happened, and it was the journey she was excited for. She would have plenty of time later to think about meeting her dad again.

“Anyway,” said her papa briskly, standing up. “I'm sure everything will be fine. And we'll all be together again before we know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback feeds the author!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr](https://phinalphantasy7.tumblr.com/).


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